Indescribable Grief, Impossible Hope
by MangKulas
Summary: Fiona finds out why she is willing to be mistress to a man married to his work. Disclaimer: I do not own the characters of Burn Notice


**Indescribable Grief, Impossible Hope**

Fiona was not a masochist.

She really wants to believe this. But she also wants to really believe that she is not a sucker.

Unfortunately, it seemed one or the other. Why else would she stay and play second fiddle to invisible faces behind a burn notice?

She is - what do the Americans call it? - a go-getter.

If there is something that she wants, she gets it. If there is something in the way of what she wants, she pushes it out of the way and gets what she wants. Or she shoots it out of way. Or blows it up. The point is, she is a skilled, confident, and smart woman. She is also not bad looking. The point is, she knows what she is worth and she knows she deserves _a lot._

She does not deserve someone who would not get a car in a city with poor mass transit because that smacked of commitment.

She does not deserve someone who keeps denying that he is _together _with her.

She does not deserve someone who has to be strong-armed into giving her his house keys. Other men are lining up to give her their house keys and keys to whatever else she wants.

Good grief, he wasn't even classically handsome. Physically, Campbell was cuter. Michael was just…charismatic.

But now, as the rain patters on the roof, echoing in Michael's loft apartment…as Michael emerges out of the shadows and draws near her, standing over her, dripping water…as Fiona's words trail off, she knows that she is both.

A sucker and a masochist, that is. And it doesn't matter.

Michael's eyes as he looks down on her…the indescribably grief and impossible hope in those eyes. The way that his hand comes up to lightly touch her, as if he is afraid that she will disappear if he does. Fiona's breath catches. And her heart is racing. Harder and faster than even when there are bullets flying in the air.

This was it. She is a sucker and a masochist for this.

He leans down and rests his forehead against hers. He kisses her and they stay suspended as his lips move over hers. It is different. The kiss is different in the way that he gathers her close, as if he's also letting her inside. He takes his hands and brings it under her, lifting her, still kissing her. And he makes his way to the bed.

He lays her down and Michael breaks away. He looks down on her, his eyes traveling.

Fiona is a go-getter. She's not shy. But she brings up her hands, self-conscious. The way Michael is looking at her, the intensity in his eyes; it is as if nothing outside her exists. It makes Fiona feel naked.

He pushes up her shirt and kisses her stomach; water droplets from Mike's hair drip into her stomach and while Fiona has not really seen Michael cry, it feels as if the rain drops are his grief.

When Michael runs his hands over her, bringing down her pants, Fiona feels her skin tingling. She shivers. Michael really is never comfortable in the face of emotion, but he could say so much with his hands. The way he touches changes. The pressure of his hands, the way he grips, or the way he touches with fingertips or with palms, Fiona has to close her eyes and grip the bed sheets from the overload of sensation.

It is slow, the way they take off each other's clothes. It is subdued. Each clasp undone silently, each piece of clothing quietly taken off, so quiet, that the fabric almost whispers against the skin.

And when he enters her, Fiona cannot take her eyes away from Michael's gaze. She sighs when he is fully inside her. For it feels like home.

Until the moment they come, he does not take his eyes off her.

o0o0o

When Fiona wakes up the next morning and finds Michael gone, she also finds that she could have cheerfully shot herself. Of course, he wasn't going to stick around for her.

She is a sucker.

She is a masochist.

She sits up and gets dressed. She's promised herself she was not going to do this. Not second fiddle to his work. No.

And she goes.

But Fiona pauses at the doorway, as she half-glances behind her, remembering the look in Michael's eyes.

That was hers, at least. Michael couldn't take that away with him if he ever leaves again. If nothing else, she has that moment, with the rain outside, and Michael dripping water, indescribable grief and impossible hope in his eyes.

0o0o0o

_THE END OF INDESCRIBABLE GRIEF, IMPOSSIBLE HOPE_


End file.
